Roll Up
by Blurby
Summary: Harm and Mac talk after the events of "Iron Coffin" (S6) in the hotel before heading back to JAG. Before Webb waltzed in, but when Brumby and Renee plagued the screen.


ROLL UP

Post "Iron Coffin" from Season 6. I watched a re-run last week, and thought I would write a short story of Harm and Mac getting re-united after the whole submarine incident. For those of you who have no idea what the _Iron Coffin_ episode was, go look up a short summary to rekindle your memory, since I'm quite sure my own crappy synopsis wouldn't do the episode justice.

NOTE: I am not entirely sure on the Russian submarine's name…I'm pretty sure I heard Mac say _Minsk_, but if I'm incorrect, I apologize in advance.

* * *

"Well, Colonel, it seems every time you come on board, you pull one on us," the Captain smiled from as the crew from _USS_ _Watertown_ bustled down the docks, laughing jovially as they went on their first night of liberty in more than a month. "I trust you'll be visiting us again?" 

"With all do respect, Captain…" Mac started, picking up her bag from the ground, "not if _I_ can help it. This just isn't the place for me."  
  
"You did handle the situation well," he continued, escorting her to the car that had been sent to pick her up. "I was wrong about you JAGs."

Mac offered her hand and he shook it wholeheartedly. "Thank you, Sir. By the way, do you know when the _The Minsk_-"

"The Commander was picked up by helo and he's going to be dropped off in…less than an hour," he replied after glancing at his wristwatch.

"Thank you."

* * *

Harmon Rabb Jr. yawned and stretched his limbs languidly as he shifted the weight of his shoulder bag from one side to the other and thanked the driver of the car, before heading towards the three-story hotel. After quickly checking in for the pre-arranged room and grabbing his key card, Harm went to the elevator, lethargically pounded the 'floor two' button and waited as the car ascended through the chute.

He peered at the passing room door numbers, seeing the one in question, number 250. Even before he had taken the card out, the door swung back to reveal a disheveled looking Sarah Mackenzie, still dressed in her uniform.

Her eyes went wide, and she nearly dropped the ice bucket she was holding. "Harm?"

"Mac!" he whispered fiercely, startled by her impromptu arrival. "What're you doing in my room?"

"_Your_ room?" she said, puzzled. "This is my room."

Clearly not understanding the dilemma, and overwhelmed with weariness, Harm sighed. "But they said it's _my_ room. They _said_ it…"

"I think you'd better go downstairs and sort the stuff out. You can leave your things in here if you'd like." She gave him entry and he shuffled in gratefully. "Besides, I was here first."

"I've been up since…a long time ago," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Why the hell would women _want_ to be on submarines? I thought they were more sensible than males."

"Go find a few that want to and get back to me. I _still_ don't understand" Mac said, the dark circles under her eyes showed her evident fatigue. "I'll go down with you if you come to get some ice with me," she offered.

He nodded. Before going out however, Harm's voice stopped her. "Hey…I'm glad you're alright. I mean, I was worried down there." It dripped with unease and anxiety, which she easily picked up on.

Mac crossed her arms, hugging herself as if on instinct. She was slightly ashamed that his cautious concern was making her feel uncomfortable, but it always had. "I don't see why you were. The torpedo was coming after you."

"But then it missed us and did a one-eighty back at you," he reminded her, but she failed to meet his eyes. "I guess we could take consolation that only _one_ of us would be hit. I mean, it was probably better that we weren't on the same vessel," he joked as if to break the heavy silence.

She didn't laugh, but arched a dubious eyebrow instead. "That makes me feel _so_ much better."

He smiled and proceeded out into the deserted hall, and then turned around, as if to ensure she was behind him. He motioned her forward and put his hands in his pockets as they strolled in companionable silence back to the elevator.

Although she didn't know why she was accompanying her partner to the lobby, since he was perfectly capable of handling matters himself, it made her feel nice. As much as the trips away from headquarters left her with little sleep and forced her to eat out for every meal, which got incredibly redundant, she always found that she would get to spend a bit more time with Harm. It made her feel juvenile and silly, but she couldn't help it.

The young attendant behind the main desk apologized profusely for the mix-up after seeing the impatient look writ on Harm's features and was obviously intimidated by the uniforms. He handed Harm a piece of paper with his new room number, 251.

After heading back up, Mac nudged Harm towards the small side room with the ice machine that was located directly off the elevator.

"Hey," she said gently. "If you're really beat, just go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

He waved her off. "You didn't come all the way down there for me, so I'm holding to my part of the deal. I don't make promises I won't keep."

Realizing his words, he stopped for a moment, and noticed her shift her gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat and continued to the small room, and she trailed behind him, still unsure of their strange line of conversation, and the memories it brought back.

Harm took the bucket from her and started to fill it up, changing the subject, as she knew he would. "Why do you need ice, anyway?"

"Bruised," Mac said simply. "Maneuvering thousands of pounds of steel from a stray torpedo is not an easy feat, I'll tell you that. Damned pipes and levers in that cramped space don't really break a fall too well if you lose your balance."

"Where?"

She pointed to her right upper arm and prodded the spot gently, as if to make sure it was the correct area and immediately felt a dull throbbing permeate through up to her shoulder. "Don't fill it _too_ much, I just need a bit," she motioned towards the container.

"It's not all for you," he grinned, pulling the bucket out of the dispenser. "I might've gotten a bit beaten up myself. There's lots of pointy things to get hurt with on the bridge of the submarine."

"Doesn't have to be pointy to hurt like a bitch."

"I'll agree with you on that," Harm said as they walked towards their rooms.

They went into hers, and he left the bucket on the desk which sat on the left of the room. 

She chewed her lower lip as he stood awkwardly, his hands resting on his hips, deciding on whether to stay or go, when she finally eased his doubts. "You can stay for the ice."

Mac leaned over and took the bucket and a small black bag that sat beside it, hugging to them to her, stepped back and plopped on the bed. She patted the spot beside her, and he smiled, relieved that she wasn't feeling nearly as strange as he was. The tension melted away slowly.

Yes, the exhaustion was almost unbearable, but he wouldn't turn this down for a million bucks; he accepted her invitation. She unzipped the tiny pouch and after a moment of rummaging, brought out two small plastic baggies.

"A Marine is always prepared to help her wounded comrades," Mac stated while she gingerly rolled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly dark area that spanned nearly half way around the circumference of her arm.

He winced and resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the injured area. "That's pretty bad."

"I might've fallen down more than once," she admitted. "Maybe a few times when the submarine wasn't even moving..." He saw the bruise had taken on a strange greenish hue in some areas as he studied the her discolored skin. "And it's just my luck that I fell on this spot every time. I nearly _swore_ in front of the skipper once."

"Couldn't have been that bad," he began.

"Oh yeah? I don't think it gets much worse than the F-word," she laughed quietly.

Harm proceeded in taking handfuls of ice and feeding it into the spare baggy. He sealed it, bunched it in his fist and pressed it carefully against her arm. His other hand kept her shoulder steady. He made no move to hand the bag over to her.

She swallowed hard and glanced at his face, seeing that he was fully concentrated on her bruise. "What about you?"

"Not nearly as bad as yours," he murmured. "I guess sailors just have better footholds on water crafts than Marines."

"You're lucky I'm hurt, or you'd be on the floor in a choke hold," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

He pushed her sleeve up past her shoulder to reveal several small abrasions. "Jesus, Mac. Did your arm go to war or something?"

"If it did, the other guys won," she sighed. "Trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in tonight is going to be fun."

Harm motioned her to hold the baggy in place as he went through her black pouch and brought out a Band-Aid to use on a considerably large cut. He patted it once it was on firmly. "I guess you'll survive, now that I'm here."

"I'm sure I will."

Mac let the sleeve fall back over her arm and got up to turn on the desk lamps and flick off the room lights. Harm followed in suit, grabbing his bag and starting towards the door. "Well, goodnight, Mac."

She froze, hoping that her getting up didn't prompt him to leave. She masked the disappointment from her voice and started nonchalantly, "You want to take the ice?"

Harm shrugged. "Like a said, sailors have the upper hand on Marines. I'm fine, don't worry about it."

" 'Night, Harm," she smiled. "And thanks."

"No problem."

He reached for the doorknob when this time, _her_ voice stopped him. "I was worried about you too." Not knowing how to respond, he took a step towards her. She was leaning against the dresser table, and propping herself up with her arms. "A lot, and _I_ was the one with the right to be."

She pushed herself up and they stood facing each other for a few minutes, each waiting for the other to make a move, any kind of move. Unexpectedly, she reached out and slipped her arms under his, squeezing him gently. Harm returned the favor and couldn't help but feel the corners of his lips perk up. He was careful to avoid her arm, and cursed the bulky airbag on his shoulder for getting in the way of the embrace. He found his arms had taken on a life of their own as they started to snake all the way around her. He rested his chin against her head, soaking in the situation, and wished he could do it more often. It felt so foreign, but so incredibly…right.

As suddenly as she had started the hug, she ended it by slipping from his hold, cutting off whatever had occurred before it had the opportunity to escalate into anything more. She briskly went to the door and opened it for him. He stepped into the hallway, unsure of himself.

"See you in the morning," Mac yawned. "Then it's back to JAG."

"Yep," he said tersely. _"And back to Mic,"_ he wanted to scream at her. With one last bid goodbye, she closed the door and he turned to the right, going to room 251.

Inside his room, Harm rolled up his pant leg to see a black and blue spot that could have easily rivaled his partner's in both size and tone. He sucked in his breath as he patted it, not knowing it was this bad on the submarine or during the whole trip back. For only the slightest moment, he wanted to run back to Mac, show her, and _demand_ that she tend to him. He felt like an eight-year-old child.

Despite the fact he knew it was an immature notion, he only wished that he had rolled up the pant leg earlier, in her presence, while complaining about the stinging sensation that shot up his leg. _It would have been fun,_ he thought with a sly smile.

Secretly back in her room, she wanted the exact same thing.

THE END

* * *

A/N -- I think Harm and Mac should get bruised more often…they get banged around a helluva lot.


End file.
